It’s been two years since I’ve written anything for the island.
Not because there wasn’t anything to say—but because I was living through a change I didn’t yet have words for.
Our family has loved this island since 1948. My grandparents taught me stewardship, and my parents taught me what it means to belong to a place without needing to own it. For most of my life, that love took the form of work—showing up every day, running a business, welcoming people, answering questions, helping others find their way here.
In 1960 my father and uncle built the Dairy Isle across from Neumans Boatline when they moved it from downtown. Many old timers remember getting an ice cream cone or milkshake while they waited for the next ferry. My mom and then I employed island people and introduced many workers to the island over the years as they made money for college. My grandma Ruth had a gift shop called the Island Cottage in the 1970’s and my mom closed it in 1982. Over the years my dad and brother Mark put in golf cart and bike rentals.We increased the food service business to breakfast in 1988 (The Island Cafe) and to a 3.5 barrel Brewery, Kelleys Island Brewery, in 1999. Losing the Neuman family ferry operation in 2001 led to a catering business that was paired with rentals until that family chapter quietly came to a close in June of 2024.
Our family’s business carried us—and many others—for a long time. And like many island stories, it reached its natural end. Not because we wanted more, but because what we had was enough, and it was time to let it change hands.
There has always been a careful balance here—between sharing the island and protecting it. Between growth and preservation. Between what is offered and what is kept.
For years, I stood in the middle of that balance through the work I did with the Chamber, with visitors, and with the rhythm of daily island business. I listened. I helped people find what they were looking for. And in doing that, I came to understand that what draws people here isn’t just the ferry ride or the shoreline or even the history.
It’s something harder to name. It’s the feeling of being here.
These days, my life on the island looks different. Doug and I have spent the last two summers putting in utilities, making plans, and slowly imagining what comes next. In the meantime, we’ve been held by neighbors and friends—meals shared, doors opened, stories exchanged, friends have reminded us that community isn’t something you build from scratch. It’s something you are welcomed into, again and again.
Without the structure of business, I’ve found myself returning to something quieter: paying attention.
To the way the island has changed. To the ways it hasn’t.
To the stories that live in conversations, in photographs, in memory.
Looking back through past island newspapers—preserved so carefully by those who understood their value—I’m struck by how much has been carried forward by simple acts of noticing. A name printed. A moment recorded. A photograph saved.
Not everything important announces itself.
Some of it lives in the small details. The ones that don’t make it into brochures or headlines, but shape how a place feels to the people who know it best.
That’s what Story Corner will be.
A place for the in-between moments. For memories and reflections.
For the stories that don’t always have a clear beginning or ending, but are part of what makes this island what it is.
I don’t write this as a business owner anymore, or as part of an organization.
Just as Patti.
Someone who has spent a lifetime loving this place, and is now learning how to see it—and share it—differently.
There is more to come.
From the past, from the present, and from whatever we are becoming next.
For now, I’m simply grateful to begin again.
